


Encounter

by umbralillium



Series: February Ficlet Challenge fics [5]
Category: Ever After (1998)
Genre: Gen, one character redacted for mystery's sake, reference to assassination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbralillium/pseuds/umbralillium
Summary: An encounter between a mysterious woman and Prince Henry of France.
Series: February Ficlet Challenge fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622959
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the February Ficlet Challenge 2020 prompt: Spy/Secret Agent/Assassin AU.

She kept to the shadows of the hedge maze as Prince Henry rode into the courtyard. Seeing him surrounded by palace guards, she cursed silently. Her client was getting rather impatient. The prince’s wedding was in a week and her client had specified that he be dead by his wedding day. She’d received the assignment two weeks ago. It was really getting rather irksome. Her reputation was at stake, as well as personal pride.

A flutter of voices approached her hiding place. As casually as she could, she walked out into the courtyard. Keeping an eye on Prince Henry in her peripheral vision, she started walking towards the bridge leading to the main road.

She was so occupied with her thoughts and watching the prince, she didn’t see the prison cart coming toward her.

“Look out!” a chorus of voices called from all around her and she paused to see who they were calling to. All eyes were on her. Only ten years of training kept her still. Fleeing would only raise suspicions.

Tipping her head up just a touch, she glared at the driver of the cart and snarled, “Watch where you’re going!” in her haughtiest voice.

“Me?” The driver snapped back. “You’re the one who stepped right in front of the cart!”

“You dare raise your voice to a lady, sir?” Prince Henry’s voice cut through their glaring contest.

Turning to face the prince, her eyes caught on a familiar elderly face peering at her through the bars of the cart. She hadn’t seen him in ten years, but Maurice looked exactly the same. A part of her that had long grown cold ached to help him, but she’d already drawn too much attention to herself.

“Apologies, Your Highness, m’lady,” the driver said as she bobbed a curtsey and met the prince’s gaze. “I was just—”

“Not keeping an eye out for people walking nearby?” Prince Henry asked, raising an eyebrow. “This is a busy area, as you should have observed. You were moving entirely too fast.”

“Apologies, sire,” the driver repeated. “I’m running late, and I need to get these prisoners and thieves to the coast.”

She bristled at the idea of Maurice being referred to as a thief. “A servant is not a thief, Your Highness, and those who are cannot help themselves.”

“Really? And do you know any of these… reluctant thieves to be servants?” he inquired, gesturing to the people crowded into the cart.

Seeing her chance to free Maurice, she gestured to him. “This man has been a servant in my father’s household since I was a child.”

“And how is he, or anyone else in the cart, not a thief, when they’ve already been convicted by my _own_ father, your king?” he asked, leaning forward in his saddle.

“If you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded, sire, but that your first make thieves, and then punish them?” She halted, suddenly realizing she had been stepping toward him as she spoke. Soft murmurs rose through the dusty air.

He stared at her for a long moment. Finally, he blinked. “Well, there you have it. Release him.”

“But sire—” the driver protested.

“I said,” Prince Henry snapped, then lowered his voice as he continued, “Release him.”

Cowed, the driver replied, “Yes, sire.”

As the driver went to unlock the door of the cart, she hurried to follow him and helped Maurice down.

“I thought I was looking at your mother,” Maurice said, voice and hands trembling as he clutched her hands.

“Meet me at the bridge,” she murmured, then in a louder voice commanded, “Prepare the horses, we leave at once.”

Maurice bowed slightly before hobbling away. She returned to the other side of the cart. “I thank you, Your Highness,” she said with a genuine smile before continuing past him toward the bridge.

She’d barely gone more than a few steps past Prince Henry’s horse before she heard footsteps behind her. “Have we met?” he asked.

She glanced back at him. “I do not believe so, Your Highness,” she replied, still walking.

“I could have sworn I knew every courtier in the province,” he said leadingly.

“Well…” she thought quickly. “I am visiting a cousin.” She cursed herself silently for such a stupid answer.

“Who?” Prince Henry asked, almost jogging to keep up with her hurried steps.

“My cousin.” She stifled a groan. Usually, she was much better at making up cover stories.

“Yes, you said that,” he replied, amusement coloring his tone. “Which one?”

She glanced at him, deciding to lean into the stupid story. “The only one I have, sire.”

He huffed an almost-laugh, jogging to get in front of her. “Are you coy on purpose or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?”

She stopped and stared at him, suddenly realizing that was what he had been fishing for, not where she lived. “No,” she said quietly, then started walking again. “And yes.”

“Well, then, pray tell me your _cousin’s_ name, so that I might call upon _her_ to learn who you are,” he requested playfully, maybe even… flirtatiously? “For anyone who can quote Thomas More is well worth the effort.”

She stopped to stare at him. “The Prince has read _Utopia_?” she asked, ignoring the rest of his words.

Prince Henry sighed and started pacing. “I found it sentimental and dull,” he said bluntly. “Honestly, the plight of the everyday rustic bores me.”

Harshly reminded of her place in the world, she recoiled. “I take it you do not converse much with peasants.”

He laughed. “Certainly not, no. Naturally.”

“Excuse me, _sire_ ,” she emphasized his title as she started walking again. “But there is nothing ‘natural’ about it. A country is defined by its ‘everyday rustics’ as you call them. They are the legs you stand on and that position demands _respect_ , not—”

“Am I to understand you find me… arrogant?” he teased.

She stared back solemnly. “Well, you gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?”

He sobered, smile slipping away. “Please, I beg of you, a name. Any name.”

She bit her lip for a moment, Maurice’s comment echoing in her mind. “I fear the only name to leave you with is… Comtesse Nicole de Lancret.”


	2. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurice and Danielle talk and Danielle meets Leonardo da Vinci in the weirdest way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More backstory! Yay! With more to come, though, how I'll fit it in, I have no idea.

As ordered, Maurice was waiting for her. For a moment, she wished he wasn’t so loyal, that he would have taken advantage of his freedom and continued home. Shaking those thoughts away, she smiled and stepped into his embrace.

“Darling girl,” he murmured into her hair. “We thought you dead.”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the memories and tears. “I slaughtered anyone who tried,” she replied, hoping he would assume she meant what she did to Gustave as a child, not it’s true definition.

“When the baroness threw you out—” he began, pulling back to look at her.

She shook her head sharply, glancing around for anyone paying too much attention to them. “Not here,” she said softly. “Come with me.”

She led him through back alleys and stables, slow enough that he could keep up and always keeping a keen eye out. By the time they made it to one of her lesser-known boltholes, he was panting and limping more heavily than before.

He looked around as she cleared off a crate for him to sit on. “It isn’t much,” she offered, guiding him to his seat. She glanced up into his eyes and quickly away again, away from the emotions and memories.

When she made to move away, he caught her hand. She stiffened, fighting instincts she’d cultivated over the last ten years.

“Mistress—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off curtly. “I’m not your mistress anymore.”

“Danielle,” he began again, softly. “What happened to you?”

Gently moving his hand from hers, she paced away to gather her thoughts. “I grew up,” she said quietly. “When the baroness cast me out on the streets, I learned very quickly how to survive on the streets.” She laughed without humor. “All those years throwing Gustave around the pig pen actually served me very well.”

Maurice remained silent, letting her tell the story in her own time.

“Eventually, word got around to the master of the thieves’ guild that I was the one besting his boys.” She stared into the distance, remembering. “He found me and took me in, trained me as I trained his boys. I’m his second, now, set to take over if something happens to him.”

He sighed and she twitched, suddenly remembering he was there. “Your father wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

She turned to him with a sad smile. “He wouldn’t have wanted to leave me to Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent’s tender mercies, either.” She shook her head. “Life doesn’t give us what we want, Maurice. I learned that the day he died.”

He stood and limped over to hug her. “It’s a hard lesson to learn so young,” he murmured sadly.

“I would have learned it eventually,” she replied, clinging to his shirt.

“Will you come to the manor?” he requested. “Paulette and Louise would dearly love to see you.”

She pulled back, shaking her head. “Best not. You remember what happened last time.”

“You’re a lot cannier now than you were then,” he pointed out. “Just to the orchard, at least?” he pressed. “She and her daughters never go there.”

A faint smile tugged at Danielle’s lips. “Alright. Let me change into something a little less grand and I’ll walk back with you.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “He would have been proud of you.”

She couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. “For becoming the second-best thief in the city?”

“For surviving,” Maurice replied, voice kind.

* * *

The closer they came to the manor, the faster Danielle’s heart beat. So many memories bombarded her mind, she wanted to scream. As her home came into view, she stopped, staring at the familiar building.

_“Papa!”_

_“Thanks to your father’s mismanagement of this estate, I can scarce afford to keep the servants who known what they are doing. I certainly cannot afford to keep an orphan who does not even know how to boil water.”_

_“Guards! Arrest this girl. She trespassed on my land and stole food from my kitchens.”_

“Danielle?” Maurice’s concerned voice broke through her memories.

“I—I’m not ready,” she said and ran. She ran from the pain, the anger, the grief, and the hatred that all clamored for attention. She ran until she reached the river, splashing into the shallows, her shoes and dress greedily soaking up the water. Backing away, she sat down hard on the bank, staring at the water flowing by.

She’d learned to swim here. Her father had held her afloat as she learned to kick and paddle. She’d bullied Gustave into learning. A laugh escaped through her tears as she remembered their water fights. Laughing and splashing and dunking each other until Papa came to rescue Gustave only to be set upon by two water-logged children.

Wiping the tears off her face, Danielle stood and stripped off her clothes until she was down to her chemise before stepping into the water. She swam to the middle of the river before rolling on her back, closing her eyes to the sunlight coming through the clouds, languidly kicking and stroking, basking in the untainted memories.

After a while, she heard splashing nearby and cast it off as fish jumping in and out of the water.

“Looks like rain,” a man commented idly.

She opened her eyes to find an elderly man _standing_ on the water over her and screamed, flailing upright.

The man startled at her scream and cried out himself as he toppled over backwards with strange wooden… boats? on his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> There is more of this written, I just figured this was a good place to stop for the Ficlet Challenge. If anyone else is interested, I do have a little bit more written with ideas for how this all came about. Also, I am aware of how much of the dialogue is lifted from the movie, but a good portion of the action is my own work as it does depart from the original scene up until Danielle walks away and Henry follows.


End file.
